Velvet Hour
by LadyDantesgirl
Summary: Boy meets girl. Boy teases girl. Girl hates boy. Girl discovers boy isn't entirely human. The rest is history. DantexOC. Rated T for language and oh so suggestive themes!
1. I Introductions

Hey everyone, long time no see.

I'm keeping this short and sweet. _A Ruby By Any Other Name_ is postponed for now: I've decided to write this in an attempt to bring back my old fans and hopefully bring in some new ones. I'm fully aware that some of my newer stories have gone off in a tangent, so for that, I'm sorry. I also wrote this because I feel that Mel's story needs to be told – she was my first OC and I feel she's being neglected.

This chapter's basically an introduction into her world and the characters that will recur in the story. There's a nice little twist at the end of this chapter, I hope you enjoy it.

Give this a chance and I promise you'll like it. However, if Mel seems quite off-putting in this chapter, there's a very valid reason for it which I will explain at the end.

P.S. My health's still as terrible as always. Bah me. I know I stole the title from a brand of perfume, double bah me.

P.P.S. For some reason, I have a craving to be someone's mentor...PM me if you're interested!

* * *

The hands of time had been cruel to the occupants of the corner lunch table - not only were their high school years coming to an end, but in the space of a month they have had to help make decisions reserved for those of a much older age.

"Did you say roses or daffodils?" Suzie questioned, adjusting her glasses.

"Roses, Denise wants roses," Max reinforced with little confidence, scratching his head in an attempt to remember for himself.

As the school cafeteria was flooded with talk of soccer and supermodels, the quiet table in the corner resided in another world – a mature world. Four weeks from this day – two from their graduation – Max and Denise were to be wed. As Denise attended a different high school on the other side of the city, Max took advantage of this opportunity and made arrangements without her, using Suzie as his secretary.

The temporary secretary began nibbling at her pen. "What church?"

"I have an idea, why don't you two get married in a trailer?" Mel teased, shifting her sandwich from hand to hand.

"Oh my God, you know Mel, you are actually so funny," Max began. "You know, because you're implying that we're trailer trash. Seriously, you deserve cookies for that. Like I would _never_ have heard that one before, nuh uh. You are so unique, Mel, just fantastic-"

"And it begins," she retaliated, turning to an awkward-looking Suzie.

Despite their childish bickering, Mel and Max had actually been best friends since middle school. Melanie was far from a tomboy, yet something between them seemed to spark and bring them closer together.

It was called algebra.

When Max and Denise became engaged a year ago, wild allegations and rumours were spread, convincing others that Mel had a secret crush on Max because she didn't immediately hop onto the marriage bandwagon. In reality, she was simply concerned about the person who had grown to be a brother to her rushing into a relationship, despite Denise's kindness.

The rumours had left a bitter aftertaste in Mel's mouth, especially when it ran the risk of endangering her own love life – something that seemed to remain in hibernation even during spring.

Ignorant of the aftertaste, Suzie made a bold statement. "I don't know why you're marrying Denise, Max, you and Mel act like an old married couple."

At once, both Max and Mel directed their piercing gazes towards Suzie. Upon realising her mistake, she covered her mouth. "I'm so sorry!"

"It's fine," soothed Max. "Besides, it's Mel you need to apologise to; if you keep talkin' like that, people will think she's a lovesick puppy."

"Yeah, like a certain _someone_," giggled Suzie, winking at Max.

"If you guys don't shut up, I'm going to release the sweetcorn of doom," Mel spat, picking the sweetcorn from her egg salad sandwich.

"Oh God, not the sweetcorn of doom!" Suzie patronized. "Does _he_ have a date for the prom yet?"

"Not that I know of."

"And do you have anyone lined up for the prom?"

"...Nope."

Upon hearing the news, Suzie slammed the pen aggressively on the crooked table. "Well then stop twirling your hair and _ask_ him, girl!"

"Are you crazy? A girl can't ask a guy out!"

Suzie took a bite from her banana as she fought the forces of hilarity. "Sure, sure. While you're at it, why don't you go back to the farm and make your husband a sandwich like a good little oppressed wife?"

"Good one, Suze," Max held his hand up for a high five, which she happily accepted.

"Says the guy about to _become_ the husband," in a moment of ill-temperament, Mel gathered her half-eaten lunch onto the tray and stood up, causing the worn-out seat to moan. "I've got a study period now; I'll see you guys in English."

"Aww, c'mon," Max protested.

Suzie tutted as her old friend fled the scene. "Jude won't be very happy."

Melanie felt a slight stab in her heart, yet continued to walk away from her 'friends'. For the first time in a long while, Suzie had referred to _he_ by his real name: Jude. Jude Mitchell was her embarrassing high school crush – tall, strong and athletic, but these features only just outweighed his stupidity. As a result of this, he had gained the title of 'dumb blonde'.

How shallow of them.

--  
After roaming the hallways, she began to regret leaving them suddenly to reflect on their words, but in all honesty, they were right. Why should men be the commanding sex? It was the 21st century – she could ask out whom she pleased, damn it!

"Damn it!" she heard a familiar voice call out from around the corner. As curious as she was, she slithered around the corner cautiously to see an infuriated Jude slamming his fist against his locker door, his face amber with frustration. "Why do these things have locks?"

"Because they wouldn't be safe without them," Mel came from behind the meaty man and teased him slightly.

Alarmed, Jude swung around and greeted his guest with a smile. "Hey...uh...Mel. Sorry ya had to see that, I forgot my locker combination again."

Throughout the whole year, Jude had been forgetting the combination to his locker. During late December, he was advised by his homeroom teacher to write his combination in his school diary.

But of course, the diary was trapped in his locker.

Being the fountain of pointless knowledge that she was, Mel decided to pipe in. "1960 – the year your mom was born. I saw it in your diary when we switched diaries by accident."

"I remember that day," Jude massaged his dominant chin. "I got scared when I thought I changed address! Thanks."

Jude turned his back to Mel and began entering his combination, releasing a satisfied hum when the door separated from its partnered lock. Despite knowing that she wasn't needed any longer, the bashful girl still lingered in his shadow.

Two weeks of high school remained, did she really need to spend minutes thinking about a question that would have little impact during prom fever? She didn't think so.

"Hey..." she chirped, still behind him. Similar to an obedient puppy, he turned his head immediately.

"Yeah?"

Melanie took a deep breath. "Are you going to the prom with anyone?"

"Yes and no," he answered proudly. "You see, I'm starting my own prom night revolution."

"Revolution?" she questioned, eyebrows raised.

"Yeah. See, girls always wait for the _guy_ to ask _them_ to the prom. I don't know about you, but I've always seen that as a sign of low confidence. Since I love the ladies and wanna help them, I've decided to go to the prom myself and wait for the girls to ask to dance with me themselves. That way they learn to stand tall...and I get to spread the Jude love. Ya hear me?"

Out of all the stupid ideas on the planet...

"Yeah, I do," Mel blatantly lied. "Great idea. I hope it works out for you and...the ladies. I'll see you there, okay?"

"Sure, see you," as Jude waved farewell, the dumbstruck teenager fled the few feet necessary to reach her locker in utter confusion. A 'revolution'? What was he thinking?

Wait, did he try to imply that she had no confidence?

Melanie sighed as she opened her locker door, finding truth in his words also. She could lack confidence at times, but she didn't realise that Jude, of all people, would sniff it out.

Maybe he was like a puppy in more ways than one?

Looking back at him from behind her locker door, she couldn't help but smile. If the alumni of Forest Lake High School were required to wear a Post-it of their defining feature, Jude's would most definitely be 'body'. She sounded like a hypocrite for thinking it, but credit was due was Jude's style of thinking – almost like a psychologist.

As the bell rang for the end of lunch, Mel gathered her books and returned to her everyday studies.

--  
The standard hysteria sounded once more as cliques of teenagers burst forth from the school doors at the end of the school day. Max and Melanie's houses were separated by a ten minute walk, yet their paths home were separated for today.

"This is my stop." Max pointed out.

"Having a meeting with the in-laws?" she couldn't help but tease.

"Yeah; they're really going overboard with the wedding – not that I have a say in it anyway."

"The more the merrier, I say."

"Yeah, that's because Mr Stone – no wait, 'dad' – is footing the bill. I'm not allowed to put a cent towards it."

At the sight of the red glow from the traffic lights, Mel fixed the strap of her bag firmly to her shoulder and waved farewell to her friend. "I'll call you later – say hi to your ghetto princess for me."

"That's racist!" Max jested from the opposite path.

Mel was many things, but not racist – the ghetto was the nickname for a wealthy estate at the other side of town reserved for wealthy businessmen. Mr Stone was exactly that, but met with opposition as he attempted to move into the estate thirty years ago. There were no laws prohibiting him from doing so, yet ignorant residents joked that the estate was turning into a ghetto.

Needless to say, the nickname caught on quickly, but not without its consequences. As a result, naive little boys from the area, barely separated from their mother's teat, felt that they were welcome among their 'brothers' and foolishly adapted the lingo of their 'home dawgs'.

But again, that was New York in a nutshell. Sweet, beautiful New York: the sullied streets, the homeless citizens, the gun crime. Yes, New York was truly the epitome of fine living.

As she approached East Tremont, she prepared herself for the same encounter she faced every day during her walk home from school.

"Your future, child?" came the familiar withered voice of the East Tremont Gypsy, Magda. In her years of senility, she believed she had the power to predict the future correctly and accurately. However, there was a one question limit; those who desired to humour her had to think carefully.

Mel turned her head and nodded politely. "No thank you, Magda."

"Alright," her derelict skin creased into a smile. "Bless you, child."

Despite remaining in that same location for approximately five years, the government never attempted to re-house her. The poor woman refused to accept charity from passers-by and acted politely to refusals – deeming her as 'safe', which allowed her to roam the streets freely.

_Yes_, she thought. _Beautiful New York._

--  
"I ran into Magda again today," Mel announced on the phone, nibbling a donut.

"She's so sweet," cooed Max. "I wish she was my grandma."

"At least that way she'd be kept off the streets. As sweet as she is, it's kind of repetitive giving and receiving the same answers every day."

"She doesn't do that to me."

"...You actually asked her a question!?"

Even behind the phone, she could tell his face was crimson. "So what?"

"Max!" Mel snorted in disbelief, donut crumbs flying free from her lips. "What did you ask?"

"I can't say. It won't come true if I do."

"That's birthday wishes, duh. You don't actually believe it'll come true, do you?"

"Part of it already has."

Mel stopped chewing in astonishment, staring at the phone as if it were a foreign object. However, nothing escaped her ability to find loopholes. "If it's already come true, then you can tell me...right?"

Again, silence fell upon Max's lips. "I'd rather not, I don't want to jinx it."

"Aww, c'mon-"

"...What? ...Yeah...okay Mom. Sorry Mel, my mom needs me down in the basement; see you tomorrow."

"You too," she sighed as he hung up the phone.

The old basement trick – when the going got tough, he hid behind mouldy boxes and old graduation photos in the basement.

_What a perfect husband_, she thought. _I wonder when Denise'll find out how much of a coward he is._

The abandoned teenager threw herself upon her velvet bed sheets, the soft satin caressing her soft arms. Upon the wardrobe opposite her rested her prom dress; hanging like a phantom. Ever since its purchase, she had been entranced by the dress – a complimentary scarlet, strapless dress with frills at the waistline that would make the most spoiled of princesses envious. She felt like an entirely different person wearing said dress – the reason why she felt she had the confidence to ask Jude for a dance. The dress had been her knight in shining armour, giving her the might to carry out the most embarrassing of requests.

If purple was the colour of heroes, why did she feel protected by scarlet?

--  
Midnight dawned upon the streets of New York, yet it felt like a winter afternoon. The sky told tales of night, yet the breeze was that of day. Neon signs sent invitations of a fine drink and a 'meeting' with a lady friend, yet these invitations fell on deaf ears as the night life of a dismal Monday was nothing to boast about. The streets were abandoned – nothing stirred without the influence of the weather.

Apart from one thing.

"Have you come to linger, child, or do you have good news?" Magda questioned, staring into the corner behind her.

"Neither – I'm bored," the 'child' emerged from the corner, hands in pocket. "Looks like demons hate Mondays as well."

"Poor child, come sit with me." Magda ushered to a spot beside her on the cold concrete. Without hesitation, he sat down, his scarlet coat flailing. After a long silence, Magda spoke up.

"I'm assuming no news is good news?"

The young man sighed, scratching his head. "Not really. You have no idea how hard it is to find a sealsmith nowadays."

"Then why bother going through the trouble of finding one?"

"One less demon lying around," he answered bluntly.

"Even one that means no harm?"

"_Especially_ them – I ain't babysitting no grannies."

"I can always rely on you to not sugar-coat things, child."

"Hey, I'm just telling it how it is," he joked, leaning against the wall. "So, told any good futures lately?"

"Not exactly. However, one of my predictions will be coming true soon."

"Death? Birth? What?"

"Marriage."

"Hmph, marriage is for idiots."

"Ever the optimist, Dante."

"You said it."

* * *

So, what do you think of the first chapter? Right now, Mel has many bad qualities – naive, ignorant, shallow, but I want to show her character _development_ more than anything else. I'm sick of seeing fanfics where the canon character is drastically changed because of an OC, why can't OCs be changed by canon characters?

Have you done your good deed for the day? You can do it by reviewing. I'd hate to sound melodramatic, but reviews of any sort really do make me smile, plus 95% of my motivation comes from reviews, otherwise I become a puddle of emo. Anonymous comments are on, so you don't even need to be logged in/have an account to review. x


	2. II Prom

If you finish reading this, you are my new God. I'm not using reverse psychology or anything; I genuinely accidentally made this too long. Those who _do_ review, however, have my total respect. I promise this will be the longest chapter, I just really wanted to squeeze some more character development in before jumping to the romance side of the fic; I don't want my characters to be Mary Sues. (I'm tempted to write something other than 'Mary Sue', but I'll keep my mouth shut)

I'm sorry this took so long to write, I'm always sick and I'm always catching up on schoolwork, so I apologise. The support this fic has gotten so far is exciting me, I really want to thank everyone who has reviewed/favourited from the bottom of my heart; I love you all.

**AN**: When demons are killed, they turn into sand. I'm not sure how many people knew that, so I'm just putting it out there. Also, **Love Planet** is the name of the strip club in DMC3.

I hope you enjoy agus Lá Fhéile Pádraig Shona Duit (and Happy St. Patrick's Day). Offline reviews are on and all critiques are welcome.

* * *

For many members of Forest Lake High School, prom night was an opportunity to relive old memories before shaking the dust from their feet and moving towards the future. For some, it was the last chance for a kind embrace with their high school sweethearts; for others, it was a stamped farewell for friendships that would be shattered after nigh on ten years.

In the cramped bedroom disguised as a beauty parlour sat one girl with the first intention, another with the latter.

"I'm gonna miss you guys," Suzie wailed, throwing her arms around Melanie's neck. "Us three had a lot of fun together."

"'Us three'?" questioned Denise. "Suzie, I don't even go to your school."

"Minor details, minor details." The emotional girl replied as she flailed her arm in the air.

Despite not attending Forest Lake High, Denise was still attending their prom as Max's date – Max, unfortunately, had two left feet, therefore Denise found every practice dance before their wedding to be of great importance.

Mel raised an eyebrow sceptically. "How much has she had to drink?"

"Too much - I think she's drowning her sorrows."

"You _guys_, don't say that! Tonight's supposed to be a happy night. Happy, happy, happy, happy, happy!"

"If you throw up on my dress, I swear to God I'll pop you."

"I forgot about _the dress_," teased Denise. "Will Lady Griffon be gracing us with an appearance in the mystery dress?"

"She shall indeed." Mel kept within the role-play, applying the finishing touches to her hair with her worn-out curling tongs.

"Are you going to wear it to the wedding?" questioned Denise.

"And have Max sneeze on it or something? As if."

"Ow!"

"Watch out for the boxes." Denise and Mel sighed in unison. Since the start of high school, Mel had made an arrangement with her parents. According to the arrangement, Mel was to move out of her parent's house after graduation and move into her grandparent's apartment. During her high school years, the demon of senility began to creep up on them, limiting their ability to do everyday tasks. To avoid a last minute rush, Mel began packing two days ago. As a result, her bedroom became awash with boxes, each an open invitation for falling.

Especially for drunk people.

"I demand compensation for that fall!"

"My mom's a lawyer, let me ask her."

"Hey! Don't be giving her ideas." Mel spat.

"Dress! Dress! Dress! Dress! Dress!" Suzie chanted eagerly.

"-Dress! Dress! Dress! Dress!"

"Not you too, Denise."

"What can I say? It's infectious…dress! Dress! Dress! Dress!"

"Alright, quit it!" the enervated girl sighed, ruffling her fine, golden hair. "I guess the finale will have to come sooner than expected."

"Are you gonna strip!?" Suzie guffawed.

Hopefully she would sober up once she reached the prom…

--  
Upon stumbling into the hired prom limo containing a proud Max, Suzie launched an attack on the nearest minibar whilst the two girls took their seats, yet met with opposition.

"C'mon Max, allbeur friendddddddd!"

"No way," shook Max, turning his attention to his best friend. "How much did she have to drink?"

Mel sighed. "I lost count after the fourth glass of wine. She needs to learn to handle her booze."

Comfortable in her seat, Denise opened the forbidden minibar and pulled out a golden-top bottle of champagne, carefully concealing it from Suzie's eyes. "Should we make a toast?"

"Go for it." The occupants of the limo exclaimed.

With her delicate, gloved hands, Denise carefully poured the sparkling liquid into the crystal champagne flutes, handing them out as she did so. Each of them (excluding Suzie), took a refine swig from the glass and raised it high up to toast the upcoming years. "To health, to happiness, and to the conclusion of the best years of our life!"

"Here, here!"

"And a happy new year!"

Oh, Suzie…

--  
Twenty minutes later, the silver limousine finally arrived at its destination – the dance that marked the end of an era. The party admired the transformed sports hall from its entrance, staring in shared awe. The sports hall was a far cry from its usual interior: rows of rubber balls and soccer nets were replaced by multicoloured ribbons, banners, food tables and a shimmering dance floor.

As alcohol of any sort was strictly forbidden on school grounds, Mel had hoped that Suzie would have sobered up once entering the alcohol-free zone. Upon entering, she bumped her head twice, stubbed her toe on the fire extinguisher and fell into the lap of a less-than-willing chaperone.

So much for the best laid plans of mice and men.

"Is Suzie okay?" approached Charlie, her date.

"She'll be fine," the scarlet queen reassured him. "She's just had a bit too much of the happy sauce – God knows she needs it!"

"Ahh. Let me take you off her hands – it's always been my dream to dance with the president."

"First, class president. Then, world domination!"

"Sure thing Suze, sure thing." Charlie took Suzie by the hand and led her to the dance floor, treating her as a toddler as he did so.

After scanning her surroundings for half a second, Mel managed to spot Jude in the crowd, dancing with a brightly-dressed Olivia Powers. It seemed that Jude's plan for world domination (or at least female domination) were finally in operation. As the pair swayed from side-to-side like wind-kissed branches, Mel couldn't help but notice Jude's path of sight occasionally sweeping across the punch table. Was he thirsty? Did he long for a cool liquid to slither down his throat?

If so, it was definitely time to score some Jude points.

Realising that she was in her own company, Mel made her way to the punch bowl, careful to avoid the sways of the childhood sweethearts and barely-compatible couples on the dance floor. Once there, she realised that a long line of threatening iron maidens blocked her reach of the punch bowl, their arms folded and their faces scorned.

Somehow, a girl in a pink Barbie-doll dress and a face only a mother could love did not seem ideal for inducing fear.

"Excuse me." She asked politely, squeezing her arm between the touching shoulders of two adamant girls. One of the girls noticed her hand and immediately swiped it away, much to Mel's surprise.

"I don't care how much you like him," the girl growled. "You're going to have to wait like the rest of us."

"'The rest of us'?" Melanie witnessed, in horror, the line of girls in front of the punch bowl, their eyes fixed on Jude and Olivia.

Was this…was this the line to dance with Jude?

As the song concluded, a giggly Olivia was freed from Jude's arm. She then gave him a peck on the cheek, turned around and signalled to a sitting April. When the signal was decoded, April rose from her corner at the punch bowl table and made her way over to Jude, his arm becoming familiar with her waist.

Yep, definitely a line.

How could he do such a thing? All the time he spent preaching to Mel and others about making females the dominant sex was actually reserved for counting his booty. Dominant? More like doormats, although she had to give credit to how subversive he was despite his lack of intelligence.

She needed someone to bitch to.

Once again, Mel scanned the crowd in search of Denise, Suzie or someone she had said hello to in the past eighteen years. After faintly hearing a familiar screech, she concluded that the screech was the result of Max's giant clown shoes penetrating Denise's gladiator heels; Mel knew they were on the dance floor. Too languorous to dive into the crowd, she produced her cell-phone from her cyan handbag and dialled Denise's number, awaiting the familiar sound of '99 Red Balloons'.

After realising that the base of the speakers dominated over any form of noise (minus loud talking), Melanie had no other option but to search for Denise whilst placing the cell-phone at her ear.

The cell-phone won. "Hello?"

"Denise?" she shouted, her finger plugged into her spare eardrum. "Where are you?"

"I'm on the dance floor."

"What part? I'm near the snack table."

"Hmm…somewhere around the middle?"

Mel sighed heavily. "Fantastic."

A few seconds later, Denise had emerged from the crowd unharmed, her cell-phone attached to her ear. Mel began to wave frantically, which Denise immediately spotted. The ebony damsel responded by ending the call and approaching her friend, her gladiator heels clicking on the hardened dance floor. "Hey, what's up?"

"Can we go somewhere quiet? It's kind of hard to be discrete when you have to shout every syllable."

"Sure, lead the way – I don't exactly know this place very well, do I?"

Mel nodded. "True, come on."

Melanie hooked her arm around Denise's and led her out of the gym. Linking arms had been a habit Mel found hard to escape during the years, yet the alternative angered her – ditzy little girls holding each other's hands to travel to the nearest clothes store riled her.

However, if anything gave her the motivation to quit linking on to people, it was this: Denise was a solid few inches taller than her, making it seem as if she was leading her mother to buy her a shiny new toy. Eventually, the pair wandered to the slightly ajar door of the school cafeteria. Mel unhooked her arm from Denise's and peered inside; nothing stirred.

It was evident from the delicious aroma devouring the room that the banquet held within the gym had been prepared in its quarters – if the room no longer served a purpose, surely it could be exploited?

"The coast is clear," Mel muttered, tip-toeing into the cafeteria. Denise mirrored her steps carefully, sliding through the space between each door. As she entered, she noticed that Mel was already seated at the table closest to the door, removing her pointy stilettos from her burning feet.

"What's wrong?" Denise re-questioned, sitting down opposite her.

"Men suck." Mel stated bluntly, airing her feet with a sigh of relief.

"You can say that again – at least I'm lucky to have found a guy who acts like a girl."

"Don't tell him that, he might burst into tears!" joked Mel at the expense of her best friend.

"That reminds me…there's something he wanted me to ask you. He's too embarrassed to ask you himself, so I'm stuck with the job." Denise began to play with a lock of her hair, signalling that she herself was embarrassed about asking.

Mel sensed her unease. "Dare I ask?"

"You really daren't."

"Okay…what is it?"

"Max…he kind of…you two have known each other a long time…he doesn't want you to miss anything because of your…gender."

"I don't follow you," a confused Mel admitted.

Denise took a deep breath and placed her palms on the cafeteria table. "He wants…he wants you at his bachelor party." The words seem to stick in Denise's throat, but they certainly stuck in Mel's head.

Bachelor parties: that one 'beautiful' night between absolute freedom and marital bliss where men were the exception to the rules of dating.

Keyword: men.

Mel tried her best to remain calm. "Does this mean I can't go to your bachelorette party?"

"Of course not."

"Where's the bachelor party?"

"…Love Planet. It was Derek's idea."

"Son of a-"

"I know, I know," Denise shook her head. "Dirty-minded big brothers shouldn't have a say in the matter."

As far as reputations for strip clubs went, Love Planet definitely had the worst – their policies were as loose as the bikinis on the strippers. Poor Max would be scarred for life, what was Derek thinking? The gold-diggers held within the neon-covered building were notorious for ending even the most sinewy relationships.

Although it would be a good opportunity to validate his loyalty to Denise…

"I guess I'll go," she decided. "Don't want to disappoint a friend."

"'Don't want to disappoint a friend', eh? Are you sure the fact that you hate guys and the fact you just signed up to go to a sleazy strip club aren't linked?" Denise giggled fiendishly.

"Shh, it's our little secret." Mel played along. Suddenly, the sound of '99 Red Balloons' ceased the laughter. Denise took the ringing cell-phone from her pocket and chuckled lightly, knowing who the call was from.

"I'll be there in a minute, sweetie…in the cafeteria…hold on." Denise placed her unfolded cell-phone on the lunch table and stood up, pulling her dress towards her and turning her head to look at the creases. Satisfied, she picked the cell-phone back from the table and placed it at her ear. "No sweetie, there's no chewing gum on my dress."

"Ha!" burst Mel.

"Okay, we'll come back now. See you there, love." Denise snapped her mobile shut and returned it to her clutch bag. "Max wants us back, c'mon."

"You just left Max on his own!?"

"Chicks before dicks, right?"

"Hah, I love it." Mel stood up, grabbing her handbag.

"Ready?"

"You bet."

The two girls marched out of the canteen, arms entwined, ready to resume the best night of their teenage lives. As depressing as the night was so far, it seemed to be rather successful for other teenagers – the route the pair chose to take back to the dance hall was littered with smooching couples. Denise rolled her eyes, turning her head in disgust. As she did so, her legs ceased movement, staring in awe. "Hey Mel, isn't that…what's his name? Charles?"

Turning her attention to Denise's fixation, Melanie noticed a perplexed Charlie standing outside of the girls' bathroom, Suzie's handbag firmly in his hand.

"Charlie?" an equally confused Mel scooped up her dress and ran towards him. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know; I was dancing with Suzie and she just started crying. I asked her what was wrong and she just shoved her handbag at me and ran off. I think she ran in here, but...well, I can't go in."

In response, Mel took the handbag from Charlie and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, I'll go get her."

"Thanks, Mel."

Before entering the ladies' bathroom, she gave a slight nod to Denise, suggesting that she should return to Max. Denise nodded back, smiled at Charlie and began journeying back to her fiancé.

The bathroom was the perfect hiding spot for all angsty teenagers, so there was plentiful evidence to suggest that Suzie had taken refuge within the pink cubicles. Leaning against the faded white wall, Mel listened to the inaudible sobs of Suzie before deciding to interfere.

"Suzie, open up. It's me, Mel."

"Mel?" she stopped sobbing. "Melanie Griffon?"

"No, it's Magical Griffon, come to fly you to Neverland. Let me in!"

"No way, leave me alone."

The lady in the scarlet dress let out a huge sigh. It was obvious that the large quantity of alcohol had impaired her judgement – if she was to get inside the cubicle, she would need to think like a drunken person.

Mel took a deep breath, plucked her back from the cubicle door and, in return, knocked on it. "Special delivery for Suzie Hernandez."

"A package? For me?" Suzie beamed as she opened the cubicle door. Taking advantage of Suzie's slowed reaction time, Mel shoved her foot between Suzie and the door and squeezed between them, closing the door for privacy's sake.

"Hey, where's my package?" expressed a befuddled Suzie.

Playing to her bemusement, Mel handed her back her handbag. "Here you go. Suze, what's up?"

"It's the end, isn't it?" Suzie resumed her melancholy state and collapsed on the toilet.

"Sweetie, no it isn't," Mel bent down to look at Suzie directly, taking her hands in her own. "This is far from the end, this is just the beginning. After we graduate, _then_ we can venture into the mad world. Doesn't that sound exciting?"

Realising the truth in her friend's speech, Suzie began to cry. "It does, but everyone keeps saying how these years are the best years of our lives, but I messed mine up. I have _so_ many regrets, but I'm so freaking young, I shouldn't _have_ those regrets. I spent my school life being 'Suzie, the geeky secretary girl' – I don't even _want_ to be a secretary, I want to be an architect."

"Suze, if you weren't the geeky secretary girl then you would be something else; that's the way high school goes. Would you rather rebel and end up being 'Suzie, the girl with the low-cut tops' or 'Suzie, the slutty girl with no shame'?"

"I wouldn't be allowed to rebel in the first place – you know how strict my parents are," Suzie managed a giggle. "Do you think we'll all get together again? I'm moving out of the state, Charlie's moving to England, you're staying here to become a nurse-"

"-And God knows what Denise and Max'll get up to after they're married. Suze, all I can say to you is that if it's meant to happen, it'll happen."

"Thanks…Mel?"

"Yeah?"

"I feel sick."

Looks like her future nurse training would come in handy right about now…

--  
"No! I don't want to go! Charlie! Help me!" Suzie screamed, flailing her arms.

"Suzie, stop that. You're too late – we're at your house."

"Huh?" she blinked rapidly. "So that's why we went into that cab?"

"Yeah, now do you think you can climb these stairs?" questioned Mel, staring at the steps to the dull black house door.

"Wee buns!" Suzie snorted, faking an Irish accent.

Despite being the person to escort Suzie safely home, Mel couldn't help but feel guilty. Out of her circle of friends, Suzie was the friend most frantic about prom – it was her fault that poor Suzie's night was ruined. For someone who had never experienced alcohol in their life, Suzie certainly took to it like a duck to water.

Was Mel her liberator or liability?

Mel had always seen Suzie's parents as a liability – they were prime examples of the over-protective, pushy parents of today. They believed that no one was worthy of their daughter.

This included Mel.

Irrespective of their bias, she would have to act maturely and admit to her wrong-doings. Melanie tapped the golden handle of the door, awaiting its unveiling with a heavily-beating heart.

It was time to face her demons – she was an adult after all, she should accept the consequences of her actions.

"Suzie? Melanie? What's the matter?"

It was her mother who had answered the door – the scariest of her parents. How ironic, but a test nonetheless. It was time; time to prove her bravery, time to prove her maturity, time to prove her determination to protect her friend.

"The punch bowl was spiked – Suzie drunk it without realising."

Maybe not…

"What!?" her mother gasped. "Suzie, is this true?"

Suzie, currently entranced by her reflection in the porch-light glass, nodded absent-mindedly.

"I don't believe this, on prom night of all nights! Don't worry, I'll contact the school about this!"

"No!"

"Why not?"

Mel faked her best sycophantic tone of voice and cleared her throat. "They already caught the kids who spiked the punch. Mrs Hernandez, I don't think there's any benefit in creating excess drama when the school is attempting to handle it in a professional manner."

"Hmm…you're right. Come here, you poor thing." Mrs Hernandez took Suzie's hand and ushered her inside, turning back to face Mel. "Thank you, Melanie; you're…a good friend."

How about the world's biggest liar?

"Thank you, I appreciate it," she murmured as the door to the Hernandez family home was shut in her face.

Idiot, idiot, idiot. Cowardly idiot. She didn't care that she was wearing a stunning, scarlet dress; in her imagination, she was wearing a lion costume.

"Courage," she muttered, stepping down the stairs. "Gotta get me some courage."

All her life, she was led to believe that wisdom brought courage and maturity brought wisdom. Here she was, eighteen-years-old, lying like a kindergartener.

Ah, the bliss of kindergarten – no proms, no weddings, certainly no alcohol. Instead, days were occupied by finger-painting, spinning and jumping off of stuff.

In the midst of pitiful current events, Melanie recalled her kindergarten jumping partner, Leon. Every Saturday after morning cartoons, they would travel religiously to a lone yellow bench in Central Park and play recklessly on its wooden frame without fear for their safety – those who had concerns for their safety were deemed as 'boring'.

Ignorance truly was bliss.

However, their ignorance was a result of being young and uneducated. Did that mean that being uneducated meant being courageous?

No, it was the yellow bench, she was sure of it; when young, she wouldn't dare attempt anything dangerous unless she was at the bench. The lion in the Wizard of Oz travelled the yellow brick road to receive his courage; it seemed that she would have to travel to the yellow bench to receive hers.

And she was tipsy enough to do so.

--  
Throughout history, many fairytales have consisted of epic quests – Ariel quested for her perfect human, Alice quested to find Mr Rabbit, the Prince quested for Cinderella. As the fairytales were aimed at hopeful young children, of course they were found.

At the end of Melanie's epic quest, she found herself less sober than she was an hour ago, feet bleeding after the three mile walk to Central Park and finally sitting on the yellow bench, now a murky brown colour.

"Looks like we've both gotten old," Mel sighed, head resting on the mouldy plank. "Doesn't mean we don't deserve to be loved."

Talking to a bench…she had definitely lost it…

But at the same time, did she gain what she set out to receive? She needed something, anything – a heavily pregnant woman going into labour, a hostage situation, someone drowning, anything.

"Gah!" she growled, slamming her fists on the ancient seat. Just as her head emerged from the sky, she noticed a scarlet blob rising and lowering itself in the distance – it almost seemed as if it were searching for something. Despite her bleeding feet, she abandoned the bench and took her dress in her hands, skipping to the blob.

She didn't see how helping someone find something was an act of courage, but then again, the scarlet blob could have been a rapist or an axe-wielding psychopath.

In that case, it would have been stupidity instead of bravery.

However, the person could be searching for a dead body or a drug nest – if she found them first, she would definitely be in the paper the next day.

Way too hyperbolic – they might have just lost their watch.

"Hey, are you okay?" she asked with a sickeningly-sweet voice. "Have you lost something?"

The person continued searching, refusing to acknowledge her presence. The person's face was too enveloped in the earth of Central Park to distinguish, but she was certain it was a man.

A rude man at that.

Mel swayed from side-to-side, attempting to look even sweeter. "We're both wearing scarlet, how cool is that?"

No response. More searching. This guy was an ass.

Her tone changed dramatically. "Hello? Are you deaf!?"

In response, the man picked up a handful of sand and threw it to the air, clearly aggravated.

Sand…in Central Park?

Confused, she surveyed her surrounding, noticing a few sand piles among the clueless grass. What the hell was he doing, starting an ant farm?

"Fine, play with your little ant farm, see if I care!" Without a farewell, Mel walked smugly away from the scene, leaving her dignity trailing behind her. Although she tried her best to not seem peeved, she began muttering angrily as her heels clicked on the pavement. "Fuck ignorant guys. I might as well become a lesbian!"

"Now _that_ I'd pay attention to!" a voice came from behind her. When she turned around in shock, she witnessed the scarlet man leaning against a lamp-post, arms folded and face fully exposed. His scarlet coat danced in the wind, exposing a leather crimson jacket underneath, old-fashioned buttons and slits replaced with miniature black belts. His leather jeans were a lighter shade of red, silver belt buckles above each pocket.

Whoever he was, he seemed to love red…and leather. A fetish, perhaps?

As he looked at her, a cheeky yet punchable grin was plastered on his face. Because of the angle he stood under the bulb of the lamp post, Mel came to the conclusion that his hair simply appeared white. Light blonde, maybe? Who cared; she had no future plans to see him, nor did she ever want to.

"Pig!" she retaliated, turning around on her heels and departing from the scene. As she walked away, she heard a light chuckle from under his breath.

What a bastard.

Guys like him were the reason honest, faithful girls couldn't find happiness in New York; guys like him were the reason _she_ couldn't find happiness in New York.

For the second time that night, she needed someone to bitch to.

Multitasking like only she could, Mel produced her cell-phone while fleeing Central Park. She dialled the familiar number and waited for a response.

"Hello?" the person answered.

"Denise? How's prom going?"

"Boring without you," she joked. "How's Suzie? What's taking you so long?"

"She's home safe and sound," Mel answered truthfully. "I just had a run-in with an…idiot."

"What!? Are you okay? Did he have any weapons?"

"I don't know; I _think_ he had something on his back, but it might've just been the alcohol. I'm fine, although I can't say the same for my perception of the male sex."

"More for me! Get a cab back here; we'll end this thing with style."

"Okay, see you there." Mel snapped her cell-phone shut.

Yep, turning lesbian really sounded appealing right about now.

* * *

Congratulations on making it to the end, you win One Free Internet.

You might be wondering about Dante's outfit: it's basically the end of DMC3/DMC1 torso with DMC3 bottoms. I _really_ don't like his bottoms from the end of DMC3, so I thought I'd elaborate. For those of you who're wondering 'Why isn't he shirtless?', the reason he was shirtless in DMC3 was because he just came out of the shower. Do you honestly expect him to fiddle with jackets and belts when his brother's about to raise hell? Don't think so.

But if you've got it, flaunt it…

I'll shut up now. Leave a review to convert to lesbianism…even if you're a guy. Especially if you're a guy. Bwahaha. x


End file.
